


forfeit

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izaya and Namie play strip poker. It goes exactly as one imagines it would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forfeit

 

 

`You cheated.´

`You didn't catch me. We didn't specify the conditions of my victory.´

Maybe she deserves it. Maybe that's what you get for being stupid enough –or bored enough– to play strip poker with Izaya Orihara. Specially when strip poker is turned into a drinking game on top of everything. Every time you had any heart in your hand at the end, whether you win or lose, you had to drink.

`You must have cheated. You've barely touched the alcohol.´

`I must be very unfortunate with hearts,´ he says in a mock-sad tone.

`Okay, let's get this over with,´ Namie mutters as she undoes the strap of her bra.

Izaya watches with not one bit of modesty or sense of human decency. He examines her breasts passing his glance over them as if he were casually flipping through a dirty magazine. Namie feels the urge to cover herself with her arms but she will not give him the satisfaction, she won't be embarrassed in front of him. She is not a kid. If he wants to play chicken, very well, she can bluff just as much as he.

She might feel awkward but thanks to Izaya's expensive heating system at least she doesn't have to feel cold.

`I'm impressed,´ he says, sounding anything but.

`New rules,´ she says. This catches him by surprise. Even standing in just her panties she is determined to keep some control of the situation. `Next one to draw a heart has to do exactly what the other says.´

Izaya raises one eyebrow.

She gets the four of hearts.

Izaya smirks, takes a long look before voicing his request.

`Come here, let me touch your breast.´

She shrugs. She knew it'd be something like that. She made up that new rule because she was expecting (hoping for?) something like this. Namie is a very good poker player but it became evident pretty sure that Izaya was better than her. She is deliberately playing a losing game and now she walks across the room towards him. Alcohol has suppressed that part of her rational thoughts that know why this is a bad idea.

He runs his fingers very slowly and deliberate across her left breast, faintly grazing the nipple. Namie has to admit she is not completely indifferent to that gesture. Suddenly she becomes aware of the cold room around them, and the warmth of Izaya's hand cupping her, her own temperature going up with embarrassment and something much more worrying.

The contact only lasts two or three seconds and Izaya drops his hand unceremoniously, like he considered this an experiment and now it's done, nothing more to it.

`By the way, you lost this hand so please remove one item of clothing,´ he says flatly.

`What? Those were not the rules. I made a new–´

`They have been the rules all night, you just changed the drinking rule into... _this_. The rest stay the same.´

He says this in a very calm, detached tone, as if he isn't really interested in the outcome.

`That's completely unfair.´

`Fair and unfair, those are not words that really suit you, Namie-chan.´

She bites her lower lip; if she calls off the game now it's like admitting he wins. Like admitting he could win every time. She removes her panties quickly, staring into Izaya's eyes in defiance. Checking if there is a change there, some sign of weakness. The bastard is a closed book when he wants to.

She wins the next hand, Izaya loses his sweater and draws the six of hearts.

`Kiss my knee,´ Namie tells him, hoping her voice sounds exactly as she pictures it in his head.

It's not that Izaya doesn't bat an eyelash, but he recovers quickly enough.

`Wait,´ he says. `For this I might actually need a drink.´

He finishes his glass of Scotch in one go before kneeling in front of Namie.

She is surprised by the touch of his fingers, which is cold but gentle, as he holds her knee between his hands. He blows hot air against her skin before putting his mouth to it. It's supposed to be just a small kiss and Izaya is being his usual douchebag self overblowing it, Namie doesn't appreciate it. She knows she should stop it right now. She doesn't.

 

 

`Okay, that's enough. Let's play,´ she tells him, all in one go, shuffling in her seat just to throw Izaya out of balance. He backs off as instructed, landing on his left hand.

He walks over to his stereo, playing something Namie guesses to be “mood music”: something in English and vaguely depressing. He turns the volume very low so that the sound is barely a hum between them.

This time he takes the stack of cards and he deals.

 

 

`Too bad. You lose another piece of clothing.´

This hand has been too easy. Namie is now convinced he is doing it on purpose, just like he had been cheating his way into winning all evening. He stands up and very melodramatically –he is already barefoot, no socks– he starts taking of his belt, very slowly, like he is so sexy when he does it; Namie rolls her eyes, but it's hard to convey much disapproval when one is stripped naked.

`Don't look so disappointed it's just the belt,´ Izaya teases her.

 

 

The next time he draws a heart something ugly takes hold of Namie.

`Now you have to kiss... between my legs.´

It's worth it just to see Izaya pretend he is not choking on his own saliva.

`You _are_ serious. Aren't you?´

`What's the matter? Too cowardly to accept the terms of your own bet?´

He snorts; Namie knows for a fact he doesn't like to be called a coward, and he hates being called on his bluffs. He superimposes bluff after bluff until not even him can remember what started the trend. Namie would like to see him unravel.

`Very well, seeing as you want it so much,´ he tries to bait her.

He pours them both another glass of scotch before, which Namie appreciates; she has the feeling she will want to be even drunker for what comes next. She toys with the idea of telling Izaya to go away so she can properly work on tomorrow's hangover. Then she remembers this is _his_ house.

 

 

Namie has to admit none of her few previous lovers had been like this: the intent, the lack of modesty, the over challenge in Izaya's eyes. It's obvious he would consider it a personal victory, if he could please her. That's why Namie tries to shut part of herself off, and refuses to enjoy the weight of his palms over her thighs. She realizes how clichéd their powerplay has become but perhaps she doesn't know how to navigate this otherwise. His nails scratch gently at the underside of her legs.

`What are you waiting for?´

`Where's the rush?´ he smirks.

He holds her glance, something in his eyes that tell her: _I want to fuck with you_ , which is oddly reassuring because Namie feels something similar. She doesn't want to fuck Izaya but she sure does want to fuck with him. There's an incessant voice inside her head going _I want to fuck with your head you egotistic heartless prick of a child_. By the way he looks at her Namie can tell he is thinking something along those lines as well.

On her bad days Namie thinks they deserve each other.

 

 

 

What it seems like hours.

She can't say he is bad at it. She can't say she herself knows what being good or bad at this really means. He takes it slow – he spent a good time trying to find the best angle, instructing Namie to sit at the edge of the chair and then arch backwards. She hooks one leg over his left shoulder, feeling the sharpness of his body, all bones and skin, curiously smooth and boyish. He doesn't look like he is trying too hard but that can be force of habit: Izaya is very particular about never looking as if he is trying hard. Namie hates that she knows these things about him, that she notices these things. She hates his tongue curling slowly inside her cunt. She hates that she let him even near her cunt. What was she thinking? Poker, of course, she remembers. Boredom. She gets distracted his ring brushing against her skin as he holds onto her leg. The idle thought if grabbing his hair until it almost hurt but not quite enters her mind. She lets it go away almost immediately. She buries her nails into the arms of the chair instead. He moves his mouth upward, lapping languidly at her clit, while his free hand moves under, two fingers inside her while Namie thinks _that's cheating, I said a kiss_ but she doesn't protest, she doesn't care, she doesn't–

 

 

Izaya lets her settle, running the tips of his fingers ever so slightly over her knee, skin and electricity. Her body rests awkward on the chair, eyes closed, orgasm-heavy. He backs down, watches her – Namie can _feel_ his glance, it itches on her skin. One more reason to keep her eyes closed, she really doesn't want to see that face right now.

When she comes to again Izaya crawls between her legs once more, resting his elbows on her thighs, as if this was the most comfortable position he can think of. He looks up at her, curiosity in his eyes. Namie wonders if he wants a payback, and she feels too tired and drunk and a bit too crossed with herself for that. But Izaya just stands there, and it's unnerving her.

`That was fun,´ he declares finally. `Maybe we should play this game more often.´

Namie draws a breath; the air smells of sex and his stupid cologne.

`Umh. Yes. Okay, let's play this game again,´ she says.

Izaya's smile is almost –but not quite– genuine.


End file.
